


Locum Work

by makokitten



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Crossover, Doctors Being Buds, Gen, Wholock, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2011-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:13:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makokitten/pseuds/makokitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson's replacement for the day seems a little bit off, but the man does claim to be a doctor...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Locum Work

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by one of the Doctor's throwaway line in the short Doctor Who series 6 extra, “Good Night:” “… and did a bit of locum work in Brixton. Lovely practice, very short-staffed.”

—

            “Thank God you could come in on such short notice,” John says, grabbing his coat.  “You’re a lifesaver, honestly.  My schedule was already completely full today and then this  _text_ —”

            “Well, you know,” replies the locum doctor, leaning against John’s desk, “it’s what I do.  Saving lives and all that.  Usually on a slightly larger scale, but I never could resist a distress call.”

            “I know what you mean.”  John discreetly checks to make sure he has everything important—phone, wallet, keys. Gun. He barely leaves the house without that nowadays.  When he notices his replacement eyeing him, he smiles and shrugs.  “This isn’t the liveliest job I’ve had, but it pays the bills.  And it’s… satisfying in small ways.  I would stick around, but my flatmate said it was an emergency.”

            “No, I know.”  The other man picks up a pencil and tosses it up idly.  “You’re not the type of person who can resist a distress call either.  Now, stop chatting.  Better go make sure your flatmate hasn’t blown up the kitchen or gotten himself kidnapped by the Russian mafia or whatever he’s up to these days.”

            “Oh.” John grins, adjusting his collar.  “So I suppose you’ve met him.”

            “Yes.  No.  Yes but  _technically_  no—it might be more accurate to say that I will meet him.”

            That’s not something one hears every day.  John turns and looks over his shoulder.  His replacement is smiling at him as if he hasn’t said anything out of the ordinary at all.  John opens his mouth, but then can’t decide what to ask.  He settles on: “Sorry, what did you say your name was?  Doctor…?”

            “Ah, ‘Doctor.’  I’m the Doctor.” The man springs up, brushes off John’s coat, and then pushes him out of his office.  “Now, go on, go! Crimes won’t solve themselves. And oh—”  He leans in to whisper, as if trying to be very discreet.  “When this one’s done with, you might want to consider asking that flatmate of yours out for texting and scones.”

            He pats John on the shoulder, and then closes the door behind him.

—

            Once he sees John out, the Doctor sits himself down in John’s chair.  “Oh, lovely,” he says, spinning himself around. “Swivel chair!  Love swivel chairs.  Keep meaning to get one of my own.  A proper one, with arms.”  Then, he puts his feet up on the desk and buzzes the intercom.  “All right, I’m ready.  Send them back! Tell them the Doctor is in.”

—


End file.
